Hell deserves no Angels
by Sunsplinter
Summary: Some angels' wings are clipped long before they are exposed to the magic of flight.
1. Chapter 1

No copyright infringement intended. These characters are currently not based on any existing ones. They reside in my mind for now.

Remember, even a thimble of critique is valuable. Thank you for taking an interest in my story.

**HELL DESERVES NO ANGELS**

_This isn't a chapter, it isn't a prelude, actually it's nothing but a few words spun into sentences, making up a whole which, I suppose, you could call a story. It's the captured memory of one night of brutality, depending which point of view you choose._

The night was dark and the house even darker still. Sounds were muted but for the crickets and owls, the soft rustling of the leaves as the wind brushed against them. The moon lay silhouetted on the sky – a ring against black velvet scattered with diamonds.

He sat high up in one of the trees. Not appearing overly large but, then again, this would be difficult enough for a human to decide. He was after all, perched on a slim branch. No animal sounds stirred near him. They shied away from him, fearing the menace of his birth and the smell of nothing that surrounded him.

His head cocked to the side, as if listening to a sweet melody or a lovingly composed opera. To him the night held no wonder. He'd lived through too many nights to even notice the changing of time. Once the sun was stolen by the horizon, all that mattered was the knowledge that he could never fall into a deep slumber again. To him eons has passed since time, previously measured in hours, seized to exist and were replaced with eternity. This was his horror to live.

It was during these hours that he could walk among people and who really paid no attention to him. Of course, they never got close enough to him to allow for anything else. Humans were like animals, they avoided his contact or his proximity. Maybe it wasn't just their inherent fear of what they could not see, but rather that they instinctively knew …they _had_ to avoid him.

A crow's shriek broke through the night and pulled him out of the longing that had come over him. Was it a crow? He leaned forward on the branch, just perching on it, slightly swaying forward. He tasted the air. It tasted of fear, anguish and hate. It was dark and malevolent and he knew that there was something far darker than him in it. He heard the sound of the crow again. This time he knew it wasn't a crow - nothing that scared could be compared to a crow. It reeked of pain, a cry for help rather than attention. If he had a heart, it would have broken; that would make sense. But then, he had not had a heart for close to 200 years.

The scream came from within the house. Glass shards tinkled on the wooden floor as a lamp was overturned. There was scuffling. He was familiar with the sound. It was the sound his prey made as they tried to scamper away from him, trying to drag itself into a dark corner where he could not see it.

A cracking sound reverberated through the garden. It came from a window that had been left open on the second storey of the house. The echo through the leaves reached his ears as he held onto the branch. His grip tightened at the sound, so tightly that the branch disintegrated into powder in his hand.

He had been coming to this house for the past three months. Every night, he held vigil hoping that the light would not be extinguished, that it would shine through that window on the East side of the house. In the mornings, he'd seen the light of the sun touch the room painting it in yellow rays. At night, it was brightly illuminated. Not by a heavenly body, but by the brilliant light which shone from the ethereal being who occupied that room. Her hair a flaming mass tumbling down her back and her green eyes as fresh as a bunch of newly cut sage.

At least twice a week there would be screaming, ornaments being broken, doors being slammed and the endless echo of scuffling feet. He could feel the tears welling in her eyes. God knows he'd seen her shed them enough times streaming down her cheeks. He heard her hands wipe it from her face. He listened to her screams and longed to reach out to her, but held back.

He had to hold back. He could not interfere. This was the law made thousands of years before. It was prudent that his kind not become involved in these human squabbles. For him, it was harder every day.

The small voice coming from the radiant being pulled at his soul. He ached to comfort her. He was drawn to intervene and yet, he stayed outside. Entering a human's home was no easy task. Permission had to be asked but more so she would have to invite him into her home. She had to physically _want_ him inside her sanctuary.

He had seen what reflected in human eyes before he stepped in to rescue victims; they were filled with revulsion. The fact that he saved them was overshadowed by their fear. And in this lay his dilemma. He knew that once she saw him for what he was, he must leave. He would have to find another place to keep vigil during the long nights when humans slept. He would have to give up being around her. And this was part of his horror, he could do it but he did not want to give up this joy.

And he could not enter – not without her permission and request.

Another crack!. He knew this sound. In his mind's eye he could see the monster's hand hit her face. He knew the brute strength put behind the blow, even if it appeared to be no more than a simple brush against her cheek.

Before he had time to convince himself again that he could not get involved, he dropped from the tree, so graceful and smoothly that nothing stirred. In a matter of seconds, he stood at the front door of the house. The big oak panels splintered away as he pushed them open. His eyes were wild as he scanned the inside of the house. From upstairs he heard her, she called calling to him with her mind. He reached out to her, willing her to say his name, to give him entry into her prison, perhaps to free her.

Then he saw it. Sinewy, silver threads running along the passage, weaving in and out of itself, rushing,, flowing, down the stairs as if reaching for his heart. He watched as it ran up his legs, forming bands around his chest and finally weaving into his fingers. He heard her voice pulling him in. Suddenly, the barrier to the house fell away and he entered. He moved so fast that the rooms blurred past him. The stairs proved no hindrance to his feet and her voice was a compass to his heart. Even in the dark of the unlit house, he knew where to go. He would know this even if he had no sight.

Under the third door, he saw her light, much weaker than it had ever been in the months he had come here. It was almost a dying flicker now as he kicked down the door. He entered in time to see the monster raise his fist high above the angel. Her green eyes drowned in tears and her cries were silenced by fear. As she saw him, her fear of her attacker turned to fear for her savior.

It was in that moment, love became defined. It was the thing that gave you reason to stop caring about yourself, to completely immerse your mind and body into saving another being. And iIt filled him as wine would drown a cup.

Getting rid of the monster proved easier than any human would have thought. For him, it was a brush of his hand; an outsider would see that he had merely pushed the monster away from the angel.

He reached down to her. As he picked her up into his arms, golden rays pulled from him and were woven through her silver strands. They melted into one being. She looked up to him. The bruises on her face and body began to form dark blotches of black and purple beneath the skin, visible only to his sensitive eyes. He felt her ragged breathing, he heard the bones broken by the monster rubbing against one another, bone fragments splintering and tearing, ringing in his ears. Her eyes fell closed, and she hung like a marionette in his arms. Taking one last look at the dying monster, he gave a low growl and effortlessly sped out the window, rushing the angel away from hell.

He fled with her in his arms. He had prepared a place, hoping this would never become necessary, but braced and ready if it did. He spent weeks praying she would be safe from "_him" - the monster, the man she was bound to by human laws_. He prayed the monster would disappear. He prayed the monster would relent. He prayed the monster could not squeeze the life from her. All his prayers had fallen on deaf ears. She hung limp in his arms, broken, torn, hurting beyond anything a human should ever have to suffer.

At the cave, he laid her down on a mountain of quilts and blankets surrounded by moss covered stone. She twisted in pain, crying out to him, beseeching him to make it stop. He brushed his lips over her ear and whispered "My Angel, my love, I _am_ going to make it go away" and bent to her neck.


	2. Chapter 2

_No copyright infringement intended. These characters are currently not based on any existing ones. _

_Please leave a review, even a thimble of critique is valuable. Thank you for taking an interest in my story._

**Dragons and Angels**

The world was bathed in darkness with the moon only a faint sliver hanging low on the horizon. Harsh cold storms raged outside but in the depths of the cave, her body was being torn apart by the flames. There was nothing he could do to alter this. He sat patiently, holding her hand, running his thumb in patterns over the back of it, willing the pain to subside and praying her memories would wipe this agony from them.

Forcing the days to blur and time to meld, he let his mind soar, going back through decades. The memory of driving his first car, a Mustang. More decades back serving in the Civil War and further back still. He let his mind race back spanning centuries, reliving the rise and fall of civilizations, reaching back to the beginning.

The first sound that broke through was a loud shriek. The memory was so strong that he toppled from his perch on the rock he was sitting on. He righted himself and reached gently for her hand, thumb swirling again. He looked down at her writhing body and knew he could not help her. He turned his thoughts back to his past, trying to escape the helplessness and weakness he felt at her side. Again, the shriek came. Closer, louder and much sharper than before. The cry that cut through life and bone and yet, there was nothing he could do. He sought relief in his memory, trying to find a time of action, of power.

_He sensed the wind rushing beneath him. His soft leather pants rubbed against the animals' sides. Its lungs filling with air and with every breath, he could feel the life force within the creature. Soon his breathing fell in pace with that of the animal as they soared through the heavens as one._

It was the only time in his 'human' years he chose to remember._ The time before man butchered the angels of the skies. It was the time when boys were raised to respect all living beings and hunting was a necessity, not mere folly. When children still believed in magick, embraced it and made it their own. The memories sang through his mind. He remembered his father taking his hand, lifting him on his shoulders while talking animatedly about his gift. He was only five years old and his father was the strongest man he knew. The animal pen was not all that far from their home but still, the early morning chill made his cheeks flush and even though his body was cold, his fingers, caught in the strong embrace of his father's hand, were warm._

He clenched his first, out of force of habit, the rush of energy speeding through his fingers. Memories of his parents were them he'd inherited his 'special' gifts. His mother had been the healer and his father the most grounded man he knew. She showed him how to heal with compassion to man and beast alike, while his father taught him to savor life and all it offered.

_Before they rounded the barn, he heard the swooshing of the beasts' breath. He felt his fear, his heartbeat quickening. His breath seemed to catch in his chest. He badly wanted to tell his father to turn around, to run from there but the knowledge that this was part of his life story stayed his tongue. This was his destiny. He had to embrace it as countless before him had._

_One more turn and they were in the field at the pen. The beast was majestic with a skin that seemed to shimmer in shades of red running into burnt orange flames licking down his sides onto the tips of his wings. The sun glinted in the creature's eyes turning its gaze into a haunting glower. He silently wondered if the beast could see the fear he felt. _

_Bending down, his father pulled him from his broad shoulders and set him squarely in front of the pen. The beast was staring at him with such intensity, burning deep into his soul. He felt compelled to move forward, towards the animal. His father leaned down, hand on his shoulder to guide him. He whispered in his ear "To have him, you must claim him. In this I cannot help but know that I am here, waiting for your return. And hear this son, you will return." _

_As if sleepwalking, he walked to the gate, swung through the low beams and walked to the beast. His breath came in short, ragged snippets, choked by his fear of the unknown. There were no other boys living close to his home with who he could have exchanged stories. Other than his father, there were none to prepare him for this moment. Tentatively he extended his hand, reaching to the beast he whispered … '"Be calm my friend, we are to be bound for life, I will protect you and your kind, we will soar over the valleys and live as one." The words were the promises made with a child's wisdom, a vow filled with expectations of a simple life for all their days._

_The beast lowered his head. He was still a young born and the boy knew one day the beast would grow five times its current size. They would make a fine pair, growing together in each other's lives. They would protect one another. His eyes grew wide as the beasts head lolled into his outstretched hand. The beast was examining him too. Eye to eye they stood in silent examination and hope. This first meeting would be the determination; it could go either way. Stories of animals turning on their paired human flooded his thoughts, exposing his fear. He could hear nothing but the pounding of his heart as he forced himself still. _

_At last the beast lowered his neck and upper body, nodding his head to the boy. The boy walked forward, his hand trailing down the dragon's neck and shoulders. Reaching up, he lifted himself between the huge shoulder blades. Acceptance was complete. There was no need for a saddle; they were one now. They would roam the skies in sync, always anticipating one another's moves._

Her soft whimpers brought him back. The change was almost complete now. He marveled at her strength. She had hardly cried out, and although her hands had reached for him during the transformation, she never thrashed or screamed from the burning he knew she was enduring.

This was the fourth day of burning hell. The hell she knew before the change was so different, now she had one more demon to face before the choice was before her. She would choose, accept him and her changed future or run from him and this hell he brought to her. For once he wished he had the powers of precognition, to have some glimpse of what was to come. He studies her face as she awakened.

After her breathing became regular, her hand snaked up to his neck. Her face no longer twisted in pain but serene and calm. Without opening her eyes she whispered two words "My angel."


End file.
